


Origins of Monstrosity

by ceralynn, protestacular



Category: Arrested Development, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceralynn/pseuds/ceralynn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/protestacular/pseuds/protestacular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael takes his son to Philly</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival in Philly

Michael awoke slowly, the pain in his back alerting him to the fact that he'd spent the night on the floor. He gave a soft groan, for a moment internally cursing that he'd managed to fall asleep on the model home's model tiles but as he opened his eyes he realized this was not, in fact, the model home.

This place looked almost.. medical, with its pale white walls and stainless steel, covered in what appeared to be dental tools of some sort. The night began coming back to him in pieces: arriving in Philadelphia, coming into a bar to ask for directions, the bartender offering him a free drink for his troubles, accepting it against his better judgement, and George Michael...

Michael bolted up, looking around the room and realizing latently that a chain around his ankle was keeping him tethered to the floor. He found George Michael curled up beside him, and for a moment was relieved until he noticed just how still his son was lying, not even seeing the soft rise and fall of his breaths. He reached a shaky hand over, finding George Michael's skin disturbingly cold under him.

“G.. George Michael?”

Michael shook him gently, internally panicking.

“George Michael, baby, sweetheart, pl-please wake up. George Michael, please!!”

Dennis watched from the shadows as this man – Michael, if Dennis was remembering correctly – desperately shook the corpse of his son, tried in vain to wake him up. He smiled softly to himself; this was always his favorite part of taking in a new victim. That moment of panic, of terror and screaming and begging that accompanied the realization of the predicament they were in gave him almost a bigger thrill than the the actual act itself. He continued to watch as this Michael grasped at the fabric of his son's shirt, dragging his cold body against him and sobbing into his shoulder.

It was almost too perfect, all of this. Michael had been almost too easy to lure down here. Dennis had known, the moment Michael had set foot in Paddy's, that he had to have him. An out-of-towner, he'd guessed almost immediately from the out of place look on his face, so it would be a long while before anyone came looking for him. And he'd just been so trusting, the way he'd talked him up, the way he'd accepted his offer for a drink without hesitation. His son had been a different story, questioning the drink, trying to convince his father to refuse and just leave. But fortunately, the bar had been empty as usual, and with no witnesses around to get in the way, it wasn't hard for Dennis to take matters into his own hands and.. convince him.

He stepped forward after a few more moments, pushing aside the curtains that surrounded the stark, white tile floor Michael was huddled on, laughing quietly to make his presence known.

“Good, you're awake,” he said calmly, coldly as he stepped over towards the two bodies, standing over them with a grin playing at his lips.

Michael almost didn't hear him at first, too consumed with the sinking realization that his son was dead, his perfect sweet angel, the most important person in the entire world to him. He held George Michael closer as he heard the man's laugh, as if trying to protect him in death the way he had so utterly failed to in life.

He looked up to the man through tears, heart sinking as he recognized him: the bartender. The man George Michael had been so wary of, had begged him not to take a drink from. God, why hadn't he listened? Why hadn't he trusted his little tiny angel, trusted his instincts? But no, of course not, he hadn't listened to anyone but himself and now everything good in his world was irreparably taken. He pulled George Michael closer, kissing his hair as an apology for his failure.

“You did this,” he said to Dennis finally, his voice shaking. “You.. y-you gave me that drink. You drugged me, didn't you? And you killed my son?”

Michael felt his blood turn to ice as the logical conclusion of this nightmare occurred to him.

“Oh.. o-oh god, you're going to kill me, too, aren't you?” As he thought about it, though, the idea appealed to him more than living as the father of a dead child.

Dennis closed the curtain encircling the small, brightly-lit space of the basement, beginning to stalk the floor in front of Michael's small, huddled form. He smiled anew as Michael's words reached his ears, as he took in the tears that were streaming down down his face and the desperate, horrified sobs that were racking his entire body.

Michael was holding his son's head against his chest, dropping kisses into his hair and, God, this was delicious. Dennis had never before been so enraptured by one of his victims, and certainly never this quickly. The way Michael looked as he cried, the way his emotions were so plainly etched onto his features was just so beautiful, though, almost like a painting.. Dennis couldn't help but stare for a moment.

“Sorry he's so cold,” Dennis replied when he finally snapped out of his reverie. “I didn't think the drugs would keep you out for so long. I really wanted him to be fresher when you woke up.”

He knelt down in front of the two bodies before him, trailing a finger over the lifeless form of Michael's son, feeling his cold skin underneath his touch and shivering slightly.

“And yeah, that was the plan,” Dennis turned his attention to Michael, smiling broadly at the fear plaguing his face. “But now, I don't know. The way you're begging.. I've never had anyone quite like you before. I think I might keep you around for a while. Who knows, if I'm feeling charitable, maybe I'll even let you watch...”

Michael looked to him with wide, scared eyes. He should have hated this man, this sociopath who was so casually and delightedly surveying his newest victims, should have despised him and wished for his own death. And yet.. there was something intriguing about him that Michael couldn't place. He chalked it up to Stockholm syndrome in that moment, trying shake the feeling away.

He held George Michael closer as he listened to Dennis speak, wanting to slap his hand off of his son's body, tell him that he didn't get to touch his son anymore but he was afraid of angering this man, of experiencing the extent of his wrath. Michael met the man's gaze slowly, his anxiety growing with every word.

“Watch?” he repeated. He couldn't imagine what horrors he'd have to witness down here, if this man was serious about keeping him around or if that was just a lie he told every victim to lull them into some kind of half-assed sense of security. And if he was serious, what exactly would he have to watch? More death? More bodies? God forbid, this man somehow finding more of his loved ones to take from him just to watch his horror and grief?

“What.. wh-what would you let me watch..?”

Dennis had moved his hand up to Michael's face from his son's body, stroking his cheek and brushing away his tears with the pad of his thumb as Michael finally met his eyes. Dennis had to fight back a slight gasp as he got a real, true look at his face, slightly stunned by what he saw there. Beautiful, twinkling grey eyes, freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks, a gentle crinkle of concern carved into his forehead. Dennis truly couldn't recall the last time he'd seen anything as breathtaking as this man, his heart pounding in his chest when he saw a flicker of something in Michael's eyes, something almost akin to.. admiration, or trust. And god, his skin was so smooth, it would be perfect for his needs..

But somehow, Dennis didn't want what he normally wanted from his victims. He felt a pull towards this man, something that was screaming inside of him to keep him around for as long as possible. It was impossible, he knew, with everything Michael had seen. There was no way he could be allowed to live. Dennis had to take care of him, treat him the same way he had all the others. He couldn't waste such a perfect opportunity.

And yet...

He shook himself of the thought before he allowed it to finish, bringing himself back to reality. He still had business to take care of. He chuckled softly, finally standing up and making his way over to the far wall where he kept his tools, gesturing to them and never once breaking eye contact.

“I skin the bodies of my victims,” Dennis said. “I make furniture. Lamps mostly, the occasional chair or blanket depending on the size of the body. It's sort of a little hobby of mine. I thought you might like the chance to see me work, witness my process. I promise, your son will be put to good use, of course. I'm very good at what I do.”

Michael followed Dennis' hand to the tools, trying to get a better look at them from his spot on the floor. He noticed now that they were all impeccably maintained, shining brightly in the stark light from the ceiling. They were also all, from what he could see, incredibly sharp.

Once again, he felt the instinct to be horrified, to want to bolt from the room and never look back but as this man spoke of his craft, Michael found himself.. interested. At least in seeing these monstrosities, these testaments to unspeakable sin. This was clearly more than a casual hobby; casual hobbies involved a sight less than an entire toolset and.. god, what was this place? Michael could only assume from the man's work ethic that this room, wherever it was, was soundproof, that his screams would go unheard, any struggle unaided. He looked down to his son, realization dawning on him.

“You're going to make George Michael into a lamp,” Michael said softly, voice shaking as he found himself crying anew. He buried his face in his son's hair, weeping softly into it. He couldn't bear that, bear the thought of his sweet angel son carved up, the pieces separated and fashioned. He held George Michael closer, never wanting to let him go.

“Well, I will be,” Dennis said, plucking a knife off of the wall in front of him and holding it out in front of his face, inspecting it shrewdly for a moment. “You won't have to watch all of it, though. It takes time. Drying the skin and all of that, it's a time consuming process, and you probably won't be around long enough to see the finished product.”

He made his way back towards Michael and his son, knife in hand, and crouched back down in front of them.

“Hey, hey, don't cry,” he spoke softly, bringing his hand up to Michael's chin and grasping it between his fingers, pulling him up until Michael was forced to look into his eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, George Michael barely suffered. His death was quick, mostly painless. He tried to save you, though. It was noble of him; he begged me to let you live.”

He once again brushed a thumb across Michael's almost impossibly soft cheek, wiping away more tears.

“He really loved you, you should know that. You must have been a very good father to him.”

Dennis stared into Michael's eyes for a moment longer, finally pulling away with great effort. There was a strange feeling gripping his heart, something that almost felt like pity, though he'd never felt it before and couldn't be sure. He took George Michael by the shoulders, prying him gently away from his father's grip and dragging him over to the drain in the middle of the floor, smiling at Michael all the while.

“Now sit back and watch. I think you're really going to like this.” He laid George Michael out in front of him, setting the knife down on the floor next to him and reaching forward, beginning to strip his lifeless body.

Michael was shaking by the end of Dennis' speech. He could see it vividly: himself passing out at the bar, George Michael probably trying to drag him out to safety, struggling to defend him even moments before his death. He could hear George Michael's pained, terrified voice ringing in his ears, begging for father's life as he realized he was about to lose his own. It killed him and it wasn't fair, it was supposed to happen the other way around: he was supposed to beg for his son's life, to die hoping his child would survive him. This wasn't right.

He held George Michael tighter, trying to keep his son in his arms even as Dennis pulled him away, but gave in, weak from the torture he'd already been through. He sobbed as Dennis laid George Michael out, seeing in his mind how this would happen, his beautiful son cut up and skinned, repurposed into some gory piece of furniture. He couldn't watch; no matter how he was beginning to feel toward this man, no matter what kind of strange, sick interest Michael had in him, he could not watch his beautiful son become a lifeless object. He shut his eyes, weeping openly.

“Just kill me,” he begged, shaking his head weakly as he lay on the floor. “Please. I-I can't watch. Please, just let me die.”

“Hey!” Dennis barked, his voice echoing throughout the room. “I told you to watch. That was an order.” No matter how enthralled he was by Michael, no matter what strange urges he had to take him into his arms and comfort him and apologize for everything he'd put him through, he couldn't have Michael disobeying him this way. He needed Michael to see, to watch as he carried out his plans for his son's body.

When he'd finally regained Michael's attention he turned his own back to George Michael laid out before him, now stripped of his clothes, which Dennis had cast aside into a pile a couple of feet away. He picked up the knife laid next to him, lost in a sort of trance as he brought it down to George Michael's still, cold flesh, running the blade gently across his skin for a moment before making a small incision along his neck.

“I like to cut the head off first, usually,” Dennis said softly, almost speaking to himself more than to Michael. “It makes skinning easier to start at the neck. But I don't know, your son is so gorgeous..”

He dug the knife in deeper, piercing the blade underneath his skin, working in a slicing motion as he began separating it from his muscle.

“I think I want to keep his hide whole, you know?”

As his hands worked on George Michael's body, his mind flashed back to what brought him here, a flurry of images racing past his mind's eye: Michael passing out at the bar stool, George Michael's panicked screams as he tried dragging him out of the bar, begging for mercy as Dennis took a bottle and bludgeoned him to death with it before he could make his escape. He began humming softly as he worked, the images playing over and over in his head, almost forgetting Michael was even there for a moment.

Michael was again terrified. As much as he wanted to die in that moment, he did not want to suffer, and he couldn't imagine what kind of torture this man would put him through for disobedience. He looked to his son's body, watching the knife enter his skin. He thought of his life with George Michael, his birth, the first time he'd ever held his little baby in his arms, the way George Michael's amazingly brown eyes had looked staring up at him for the first time. How Michael had sobbed taking his son to his first day of school, even more broken up about it than George Michael was, telling him to make friends and stay safe, even as he wanted to sweep him up in his arms and take him home right that moment. Watching George Michael grow, the way puberty was just starting to gently shape his baby boy into a man. He wanted to screw his eyes shut again, wanted to block out what was happened but he dared not risk inciting his captor to anger again.

“He is gorgeous,” Michael agreed, still sobbing. “He's.. He was the best thing I've ever done with my life." He looked down, not sure why he was bothering to converse with this man who regarded him so little that he planned to kill him before he was done even done with his son. “His mother died when he was twelve. We were all each other had. He was the most important person in the world to me.”

Dennis listened as Michael spoke of his son, a kind of softness and adoration in his voice that he'd never heard before cutting through his own thick haze. He'd never heard anyone talk about anyone the way Michael was speaking of George Michael, with the same unwavering devotion even in the the wake of what was being done to him, what Michael had to have known Dennis was going to do with him too once this was all over.

Dennis stilled the knife in his hand, pulling it out of George Michael's skin and, once again, setting it down next to him. He was utterly compelled for reasons he couldn't comprehend to tend to Michael, to comfort him and hold him and assure him that everything would be okay, even though all of his suffering was at his own hand. He crawled over slowly, somewhat tentatively to Michael, sitting cross-legged across from him and reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes as he recalled the life of his son. He could almost see the memories himself, the wonderful times Michael must have had with his gorgeous son, could feel the love radiating from him for his now deceased child.

“I'm sorry,” Dennis replied, when he was sure Michael was done speaking. And he meant it, too; while he wasn't necessarily sorry for what he'd done, he found himself almost painfully sorry for the fact that this man sitting before him was suffering so. “I'm sorry you had to see this, Michael. It sounds like you two had a really good life together, you must have been an amazing father to him. He was lucky to have you.”

Michael tensed as Dennis approached, terrified that this qualified as another act of disobedience, of the man punishing him for speaking out, for mourning, but he could see in his face the lack of intention to hurt him. He watched as Dennis crawled forward, tensing again at the hand on his shoulder, but it felt.. good. Warm, and so much more comforting that his son's icy skin under his fingers. He listened to Dennis as he spoke, easing as he expressed his seemingly genuine regret, as this sociopath apologized for the act that just moments ago he was so intent on Michael seeing. Hesitantly, Michael brought his own hand up to cover Dennis' on his shoulder, letting him know that he was accepting the small affection.

“I was the lucky one,” he corrected, looking up into Dennis' face, actually surprised at the heartache he saw there. “George Michael.. I-I didn't really know what happiness was until he came into my life. Everyone in my family is so..”

He trailed off, imagining their reaction to George Michael's death, to his own eventually, wondering if anyone would even notice when they never came back, if they'd even look for him. He gave a small sob, looking back up into Dennis' eyes. “I wanted to be better for him. I-I wanted him to have a better life than I did. It was all I ever wanted for him.”

Dennis turned his hand over underneath Michael's almost without thought, as if he were on autopilot, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He had never felt anything like this before, such a strong urge to make right something he had done wrong. In fact, he'd never really felt much of anything, at least not outside of the thrill he got from luring another victim, taking from them the spark of life that he himself had never been able to experience. But this.. this was different. His heart ached for Michael. Seeing the sadness, the unbearable longing on his face for even just another moment with his son, the desperate wish that he could trade places with his lifeless child, it was making Dennis' heart clench in his chest.

He brought his other hand around Michael's waist, pausing for a moment before pulling him forward as much as the chain around his ankle would allow, resting Michael's head against his chest as his other hand came around to rub his back in an attempt to be soothing. He wanted to ask Michael to continue, ask him what exactly his family had done so wrong, but he knew it wasn't his place. After everything he'd done, he was lucky Michael was even talking to him, even accepting his weak attempts at apologies and affection. Instead he remained still, listened as Michael spoke so sweetly of his son, his sobs soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Dennis turned his head, burying his nose into Michael's hair as he spoke.

“He had a good life,” he said softly, desperately hoping he sounded convincing. “The way he fought for you.. He obviously loved you, so so much. It may have been cut short, but you gave him an amazing life. I promise you that.”

Michael began to panic again as Dennis' hands moved over him, as he was pressed gently and even.. lovingly against the man's chest. Was this real? Was this some kind of nightmare? Had this mystery bartender really murdered his son and was he really here now, apologizing and trying to atone for it? This had to be some kind of trick, some kind of new psychological torture he was subjecting Michael to. And yet, it felt so convincing. And kind. The feeling of Dennis' face in his hair, the way he spoke so gently against him, Michael hadn't felt this cared for since Gob.. He shook the thought away, too scared of his feelings for Gob to even focus on them now, when death was so close. He didn't return the embrace, frightened that wrapping his arms around Dennis' neck might be going too far, but he relaxed into it, bringing a hand up to the man's chest and nuzzling softly against it.

“I hope I did,” he said. “I just.. I just wanted him to feel happy and loved. My dad never gave me that. He kept feeling unloved on purpose. Even now. And my mom..”

Michael paused, realizing he was rambling, that this man probably had no real interest in his life, probably just wanted him to stop crying so he could get back to work. He shook his head gently against Dennis' chest.

“I know my parents don't love me. I know they never will, but.. I was okay with that. As long as I had George Michael, I didn't need anyone else to love me.”

Dennis squeezed Michael harder and harder against him with every word that tumbled from his lips, suddenly and almost frantically wanting him to feel safe in his presence despite everything, safe enough to open his heart to him without holding back. There was a flash of anger burning inside of him, some impulse to go and hunt down this wonderful man's parents and hurt them the same way they had apparently hurt him, although he knew how horribly hypocritical this urge was. He had just murdered Michael's son in cold blood, nearly forced him to watch as he skinned him alive. And for what? To turn him into a lamp, or a chair, or some other meaningless decoration for his and Mac's apartment.

He wanted so badly for Michael to continue, tell him every little thing about his life prior to this moment, to not spare him any detail. He wanted to know about his upbringing, or even to continue to talking about his son. Really, anything that kept his gorgeous, grief-stricken voice ringing like such beautiful music in his ears. He wanted to reverse time, to somehow save him from ever having entered Paddy's. He wanted to spare Michael's life and his son's life and give them back the happiness he so longed for, that Dennis knew deep down in his heart that he deserved. But it was too late for that now, what was done was done. All Dennis could do in this moment was try to offer him comfort, try and make his reality a little less bleak.

“He did. Whatever it is that your family did to you, or to him.. You more than made up for it. And if your parents didn't love you like they should have.. Anyone who didn't love you, it was their loss. I mean that. And I know there's nothing I can do to bring him back, but he did love you. So, so much. Maybe more than I've ever seen before.”

Michael wept as Dennis held him, too overcome with grief to even question what was happening anymore, why this man seemed so intent on comforting him, on convincing him that he'd succeeded in giving his son the life and love he deserved. Why this man who had drugged him, murdered his son not twenty-four hours ago, planned to kill him too, why or how this man was treating him with such genuine care and compassion. He nodded softly against Dennis' chest, suddenly becoming aware of his heartbeat and further soothed by the steady, soft feeling of it against his ear as it underscored his words. Their loss? This man was honestly and truly condemning every person who didn't love him?

“I know he did,” Michael said finally, softly. “I know he loved me. George Michael was.. so full of love. He was so innocent, you know? A-and he gave people.. far more chances than they ever deserved.”

“He sounds wonderful. He really does. I'm.. I'm sorry I never got to know him.”

Michael thought of the way George Michael still looked up to his Uncle Gob, to the way he still insisted that Michael treat the family with compassion and never give up on them. He gave another sob, hand closing slightly around the fabric of Dennis' shirt. He remembered his son's lifeless body behind Dennis, how the blood probably wasn't even oozing from his wounds without a beating heart to pump it. He looked up to Dennis' face, staring into his eyes, tears in his own.

“Just make him something beautiful,” Michael begged. “That's all that I want. Just.. Just let him stay beautiful.”

Dennis cradled Michael against his chest for a few more moments, listening intently as his tears began to die down. And while he wasn't sure if it was because Michael had simply exhausted himself, or if Dennis' attempts at being comforting had been successful, he was happy that the heart-wrenching sound had stopped all the same. He pulled back the slightest bit as Michael looked into his eyes, seeing the desperation and longing shining so plainly in them, his heart breaking for him.

“I will,” he nodded, almost absently, as Michael's words reached his ears. “I promise, I won't let his body go to waste. He'll go to something good. It's the least he deserves. It's the least you deserve.”

He gave Michael one last gentle squeeze before disentangling his arms from around him, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before he could stop himself and turning his attention to the body behind him. A sickly sort of dread filled him; he wanted to shove George Michael's corpse into a freezer and never, ever look at it again. The reminder of what he'd done was suddenly too painful to bear; it was too difficult to face what he had done. He had to forcibly hold back vomit as he crawled back over to the body, retrieving the knife once again from the floor and holding it over his lifeless form.

“You don't have to watch, Michael,” he said quietly. “Close your eyes.”

He shimmied the knife back into the incision in his neck, beginning once again to remove his skin from the rest of his body with even more careful, calculated precision than he usually used.

Michael nodded as Dennis promised to do something good with the body, to let his little boy remain beautiful and believed him somehow, knew that this man would keep his word, truly believed that Michael deserved him keeping his word. He felt the press of the man's lips on his forehead and his cheeks began to burn. He almost doubted it had happened, but the memory of his lips on his skin was there, as real as the pain in his back. He hoped Dennis wouldn't notice, wouldn't see his reaction and think something awful about it, turn on him and revoke his affection and promises.

Now that Dennis had let go of him, Michael really realized just how nice it had felt to be held, to be soothed and allowed to cry and told only good, kind things no matter how terrible the circumstances. He watched Dennis crawling back to George Michael's limp body, his words barely penetrating the haze of horror and nausea plaguing Michael. Was that right? Was he really being granted the privilege of not watching it happen? Easing his terror just a bit? He continued to watch for a moment, seeing all of the love for the task drain from Dennis' face, the precision and care with which he was cutting into his son. But it was still too much, and Michael was ready to take any kindness he could. He shut his eyes, silent tears running down his face. He could still hear it, the quiet sound of the knife slipping over and through his son's form, but he was comforted not to visually confirm the horror, and by the knowledge that Dennis would in fact be taking good care of his son's skin.

Dennis worked silently, efficiently as he sliced through George Michael's flesh, removing it so carefully from the rest of his body. He glanced over at Michael for a moment, relieved to see that he had taken his offer to heart and shut his eyes, before returning to the task at hand. When the skin had been fully removed from George Michael's body he pulled away, picking it up and holding it out in front of him. He'd done well; this was possibly the cleanest job he'd done so far, George Michael's flesh perfectly in tact and showing almost no cut marks.

Michael took in shallow breaths as he listened to Dennis work, struggling hard not to focus on the sounds, on the reality of what was happening. He tried to assure himself this was for the best, that there was no changing what had happened and Dennis was offering him the sweetest kindness he possibly could. He tried to imagine instead how George Michael's softly freckled skin might look in its re-purposed and lovely final form, wrapped around a lamp, his pale skin casting a warm glow in a room. Or an elegant chair, a smaller one, one not for us but for show, to be admired from afar. But even these images were only a small comfort; he was not yet ready to deal with the reality of his son being turned into an object, however beautiful.

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? I'll be back in just a minute,” Dennis said quietly to Michael as he took in the sight of his son's body, now skinless as his blood pooled beneath him. He knew how much the vision would destroy Michael, and in this moment that was the absolute last thing Dennis wanted.

He made his way to the back of the basement with George Michael's hide, hanging it on the hooks he kept in his office, leaving it there to dry as he returned to the basement and to Michael. He made quick work of disposing of the rest of his son's body, cleaning up quietly and efficiently until there were no traces left, until the floor was so sparkling white that it was almost as if he'd never been there in the first place. He bent back down to Michael, once again gathering him gently in his arms, as if he might break if he held on too tightly.

“There. It's all over, okay? He's...he's gone now. It's over.”

Michael had heard the noises stop, heard Dennis tell him to keep his eyes shut and he'd known, abstractly, what was in front of him, his little boy, muscles and sinews exposed and vulnerable. He'd shut his eyes tighter, desperate not to catch even an accidental glimpse. It felt like an eternity later when he was pulled again into Dennis' arms, almost jarred by the warmth of him. He opened his eyes slowly, taking a moment to adjust to the glaring whiteness of the room, to the lack of evidence of what he knew had occurred. He let out a sigh of relief he hadn't known he'd been holding in, slumping forward against Dennis' body and burying his face in the crook of his neck, utterly spent from the experience.

"Thank you," he whispered. Then, after a moment of silence, "Are you going to kill me now? I think.. I think I want to be with my son now."

Dennis clutched Michael to his body, his heart breaking at the sound of his quiet, delicately whispered thank you. Michael was thanking him, his son's murderer, for disposing of the body. Even Dennis could tell, distantly, that this wasn't right, that Michael had absolutely nothing to be thankful for. He should hate him, should be screaming and crying and fighting and desperate to get as far away from him as he possibly could. But this kind of submission? This sad, defeated plea to be killed in cold blood the same way his son had, to be put out of his misery? Dennis couldn't handle it.

And he certainly, definitely didn't want to kill him – no matter what his intention had been when he'd originally brought them down here, he never wanted to let go of Michael now. He wanted to keep him around for as long as possible, wanted to hold him and keep him safe and make him feel all of the love that he had so ruthlessly, brutally taken away from him.

He buried his own face into Michael's shoulder, running his hands along his back in a way that he hoped was soothing, he hoped offered some small comfort in what he was sure was this wonderful man's darkest hour. He fell quiet for a moment, wracking his brain for any small way he could make right his wrong, although he knew that there weren't any. He would make George Michael into something gorgeous, absolutely, try his best to honor his life by using as much of his body as possible to make something wonderful. But nothing would ever bring him back, nothing could fill that gaping hole in Michael's heart, and Dennis knew it.

“I'm sorry,” Dennis responded finally, quietly. “I don't know if I can kill you. I just...” He trailed off, choosing his words carefully, ultimately deciding that honesty was his best bet here. “I don't know if I can bear to let you go, now. I don't think I can kill you. I'm sorry.”

Michael was quiet as Dennis spoke, as he slowly processed what exactly he meant. After all, he couldn't see this ordeal ending any other way. Dennis would have to kill him eventually, wouldn't he? He was a liability, legally. He'd as good as witnessed the murder and skinning of his son, had seen enough of this man to offer a sufficient police sketch, knew the location of his workplace. There was no way Michael could be allowed to go free. So.. did this man intend to keep him down here forever? Would he live out his life in this strange, sterile basement, being slowly starved to death to ease this man's conscience? And yet.. something in Dennis' words told him that he had a genuine interest in Michael's life, in his welfare and making sure he was comfortable, wherever he needed to be kept.

Michael pulled away gently, just enough to look into Dennis' eyes, seeing the honest heartache there, the desire to right what he had made wrong, and nodded, accepting Dennis' words. "That's very kind of you," he said softly, meaning it. He leaned in before he could help himself, pressing a gentle kiss to the man's cheek.

"Will you.. will you take care of me down here?"

Dennis' heart nearly stopped as he felt the warm press of lips against his cheek, and he backed away quickly, on instinct. Had Michael really just.. kissed him? Why was this man being so nice to him, offering him so much kindness and forgiveness when he deserved none? Why did Dennis feel such a pull towards him, such a strong desire to see this man alive and well and recovered from the horrors he'd witnessed? None of it made any sense, and Dennis' head was spinning. Michael was far from his first victim; he'd taken many others before him without a second thought, their pleas and begging for life never once giving him pause. But this...this was different, somehow. He had never before seen the way the death of one of his victims affected their loved ones, never saw the raw heartache it caused. And Michael was being so sweet, so loving and forgiving despite the fact that he would never see his son again, was accepting comfort and offering himself over to the man who had taken his livelihood away from him.

Dennis looked into Michael's eyes as he spoke, seeing an accepting and almost.. intrigued look in his eyes, and fell silent for a moment. The truth was, he didn't know what he would do with Michael now. Bringing him back to his apartment wasn't an option, not with Mac there. There would be too many questions asked that he didn't have the answers to. The only option he had, at this point, was to keep him here until he figured something better out. He nodded slowly as he made his decision, offering Michael a gentle squeeze.

“Of course. Of course I will. I'll take care of you, I'll make you very comfortable. I promise, okay? I'll do whatever I can to make you happy.”

Michael was frightened as Dennis backed away, terrified that he'd fucked everything up, that he'd terrified this man as he'd been afraid he would, that this man would revoke all his kindness, shred his son's skin and leave him to rot. He was about to apologize until Dennis finally, finally pulled him back into his arms. He smiled, listening to this man's promises to care for him, to keep him safe and happy. Inexplicably, despite the fact that he'd murdered his son in cold blood only hours ago, Michael believed him. He knew Dennis would take the greatest care of him that he could, would truly make an effort to apologize for the loss of his son with his care. He still knew he could never see the outside world, probably never again as long as he lived, but this was.. okay. As far as fates went, this one, lived out in the basement of a bent but ultimately sweet man, waiting as his son was converted into a beautiful piece of furniture.. this wasn't terrible.

Michael wrapped around his arms around Dennis in return, holding him against him.

“Thank you,” he whispered again into Dennis' ear. “I-I trust you. Thank you.”

Dennis nodded against Michael's neck and held him close for a few moments longer, reveling in the warmth of his body pressed against his own, in the very real and overwhelming amount of kindness and something that almost felt like love that was radiating from him.

“You're welcome,” he whispered softly, turning his head the slightest bit to press another kiss against Michael's neck. It still felt wrong, accepting this man's forgiveness, but Dennis couldn't help himself. Selfish as he knew it was, Dennis wanted nothing more than for Michael to like him, maybe even love him, though he knew it was probably impossible. The best he could ever wish for, Dennis figured, was for Michael to not completely despise him. And he was more than willing to accept that, would do absolutely everything in his power to earn that from him. It would likely be a long road; Michael had a lot of scars that would need the utmost compassion to heal before he could come even close to really, truly caring about and trusting Dennis.

He pulled away after a little while, his hands still gently grasping Michael's arms as he looked into his eyes, saw that already he was looking a little less broken, a little less terrified of his fate. He smiled softly at him, leaning forward to press another small kiss to his forehead.

“You must be starving. Do you want something to eat? I could make you some dinner, if you want. You might feel a little better with some food in you.”

Michael relaxed into the embrace. Despite everything, despite losing the most important person in the world to him, despite the fact that he might be relegated to this sterile hell until his dying day, he was not scared. In fact, the longer he felt Dennis' arms around him, the more confident he grew in this arrangement, in the idea that this man might have been truly honest about not wanting to kill him, about truly valuing his life.

He pulled away slowly as Dennis did, matching his soft, hesitant smile. The idea of food seemed truly vague to him. He could not tell how long he had gone without food, could not remember his last meal before he was drugged and arrived down here, but food probably couldn't hurt. He had a flash of an idea of Dennis drugging him, putting something lethal into his food after this display simply to kill him after Dennis had convinced him of his caring nature, but he forced himself to shake the thought from his head; whether or not it was true, it did him no good to dwell on it.

“Food would be nice,” Michael said, smiling a bit more for him. “I'd.. I would really like that.” 

Dennis nodded and smiled, pleased that Michael was accepting his offer for food, one of the few things Dennis had to give him that he knew might make him feel a little better. It had been at least a day since Michael had eaten, he figured, since he'd been in this basement for at least twenty hours. And with the drugs he still had coursing through his veins Dennis also knew that he could use something to soak them up, maybe make him feel a little less weak and weary. At the very least soothe his stomach some, help him build up a little bit more of his strength. Plus, he was a good cook, and Dennis suddenly found himself delighting in the idea of showing off his talents to Michael, maybe impressing him with his ability. He rubbed Michael's arm for another moment, looking into his eyes as he spoke.

“Okay. I'll go make us some dinner, I'll be back in just a little while. Try to get some rest while I'm gone, you need to build back your strength. Try to get some sleep. When I get back we can eat dinner together.”

He stood slowly, somewhat hesitant to leave Michael alone with his thoughts, hating the idea of him being forced to face the reality of his predicament without him there to offer comfort. He began walking away slowly, making his way upstairs to the kitchen and beginning to prepare their meal as quickly as he could manage.

Michael smiled more as Dennis spoke, seeing the genuine care in his eyes, the desire to impress him shining plainly. He suddenly found himself very excited for the dinner Dennis would prepare, almost letting his excitement overtake every other terrible experience he'd had that day. He watched this man finally stand and walk away, starting off to some unknown exit up and back into the bar Michael had unwittingly stepped into, or perhaps back up into his home; Michael, after all, had absolutely no way of guessing where he was.

He laid himself down slowly on the white floor of the room, of his new home, and took a deep breath, not even smelling a trace of his son's body there. He was grateful for Dennis, for how thoroughly he had cleaned the room of all evidence of the worst thing that had ever happened to either of them. Michael took another breath, settling into the floor and finally taking Dennis' advice to rest. The events of the day had taken so, so much out of him, and he did feel incredibly weak. While a sterile floor was not exactly the ideal resting place, he knew he couldn't expect too much in the way of comfort, especially given what he knew of his new environment. Michael relaxed into the floor, sleep coming easily.


	2. You Can't Unscramble A Man Who Kills And Eats People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gets closer to his captor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: _Psycho Pete Returns_ : WE FUCKING CALLED IT.

Dennis set to preparing the meal for the two of them, working as quickly as he could for fear of leaving Michael alone for too long. He opted to go with chili, something he knew he could make well and that would be hearty, warm and comforting and would hopefully bring a sense of being at home into Michael's new life. He worked speedily but with precision, putting a kind of care and effort into every step of the meal's preparation that he didn't put in when he was only cooking for himself.

Truly, he wanted Michael to be able to feel in his food all of the love he was capable of pouring into it, wanted it to express his gratitude that Michael was giving him this chance and being so forgiving after everything he'd put him through. He set the chili on the stove and made his way back down to the basement to see if Michael needed anything, smiling softly to himself when he found his form curled up on the tiled floor, fast asleep. He watched him for a little while, taking in the steady rise and fall of his chest and the small noises he made.

Dennis found himself wondering what he was dreaming about, if anything at all. If he was thinking of his son, or of what his new life would be like. A small, selfish part of Dennis hoped that Michael was dreaming of him. Whatever it was, Dennis was immensely grateful to see that he had found some semblance of peace, if only for a little while. He headed back upstairs to finish making dinner, getting two plates ready and bringing them down along with a pillow he kept in the office of Paddy's. He made his way to Michael's sleeping form, setting the plates down beside him and sitting in front of him, reaching out to gently shake Michael's arm.

“Hey, hey, wake up Michael. Food's ready, if you're still hungry.”

Michael had slept soundly, weak from hunger and whatever Dennis had drugged him with still coursing through his system. Too soundly, in fact, to dream per se, but flashes of George Michael and his new captor flashed through this mind. He opened his eyes slowly as Dennis shook him, expecting in his exhaustion to find George Michael in front of him, anxiously waking him up to go to work or take him to school.

There was only a moment of confusion before reality of the situation grounded him: that his perfect child was dead, that he would die in this basement, that his life was now in the hands of this twisted but intriguing man. The spice of the chili reached his nose next, and Michael felt his stomach growling at the prospect of food, giving him inspiration to finally sit up. As he did, he glanced down, noticing finally that there were two plates of food on the floor before him. He looked back up to Dennis, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Were you..? Did you want to have dinner with me?” he asked, giving a small laugh as he realized that it sounded more like a proposition for a date than an honest question.

Dennis chuckled slightly at the twinkle in Michael's eye at the sight of food, the sound of his stomach growling audible and echoing through the empty room surrounding them. He could only imagine how starving he must have been, how badly his body was begging him for some sort of nourishment. He nodded, returning Michael's soft smile as he took one of the plates, holding it out for him.

“Yeah. I mean... If it's okay with you. I just figured, you're going to be down here for a while, we might as well spend some time together, you know? Here, eat up.”

He watched as Michael sat up and struggled to get comfortable on the tile floor he'd been sleeping on, remembering suddenly that he had also brought a pillow down and crawling behind him with it, propping it up underneath him to give him some cushion from the unforgiving hardness. He sat back down in front of Michael, grabbing his own plate of food and taking a few bites, allowing silence to fill the room as the two of them ate.

He glanced up to see Michael eagerly spooning the chili into his mouth, smiling softly to himself once again. He eyed Michael with a small grin as he practically shoveled the food into his mouth, for a moment proud of himself that he was so eagerly and willingly accepting his nourishment, was so clearly enjoying one of the few things he really had to offer him. He was so wrapped up in his admiration of Michael that he almost forgot about his own food, only continuing to eat after Michael had polished off almost half of his chili.

“How is it? Chili is kind of my specialty, I hope you like it.”

Michael took the chili up eagerly, bringing the first spoonful to his lips without even thinking to blow on it. His eyes widened; 'specialty' was an understatement. He tried to savor it, chewing slowly as the rich flavors and spices melted over his tongue, but his body was crying out so desperately for nourishment, it was a difficult task to slow down. Michael nodded at Dennis' question, stopping to answer him when he'd finally spooned enough chili into his body to quiet his stomach's desperation.

“It's amazing,” he said seriously. “Honestly, this is.. probably the best chili I've ever had. What's in this? I mean, it doesn't taste quite like beef, but it's..”

Michael shook his head, smiling as the dinner started to bring him a strange sense of normalcy.

“I just can't place the flavor.”

Dennis laughed, somewhat nervously, as Michael's question rang in his ears, and was tempted for a moment to lie. To tell Michael that it was beef, that his taste buds were probably just playing tricks on him. But he also knew, if he ever hoped to gain this sweet man's trust the way he so desperately did, that honesty was probably the best route to take. Still, he was nervous, knowing that the main ingredient that he used in most of his cooking was slighty... unorthodox, to say the least. Michael had been so forgiving of everything prior to this though, so understanding and sweet about every one of his other little quirks, that maybe he could accept him for this too.

He smiled again as Michael continued to compliment him, his confidence increasing with every kind word that fell from his lips. Dennis forced himself to make eye contact with Michael, hoping that it would ease some of the uneasiness as he finally found his voice.

“Thank you. That really means a lot, I spent a lot of time on this recipe. It's uh...”

He trailed off for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“It's human, actually. This is what I usually use the bodies for, once I've skinned them. I don't like anything to go to waste, so I came up with a bunch of recipes. I have a whole book of them upstairs.”

Michael paused at the revelation, for a moment expecting (or hoping) Dennis to smile, chuckle slightly, tell him it was only a joke, that this was a special mix or some exotic, endangered species' meat. But as he continued his explanation, referenced the recipe book, gave no laugh but only uncomfortable, serious silence, Michael realized that he wasn't kidding. It was human meat in both of these bowls, in a pot somewhere upstairs, in his own stomach digesting even now.

He looked down to the bowl, expecting to see a finger or toe or some other gross-out feature movies had always taught him would be required to pop out after such a statement as Dennis', but there was none. In classic Dennis fashion, he had methodically prepared the meat as to offer no traces of what it was beyond its magnificent flavour. Michael eyed the chili for several seconds more then, slowly, tentatively, brought a spoon of it back up and into his mouth.

“Smart,” he said after he swallowed, immediately gathering another spoonful. “Gets rid of the evidence. Or, well, I suppose the lamps are still evidence, right? But you can lie, say those anything..”

He stopped his rambling, looking to Dennis' face.

“It tastes amazing. You really are very talented.”

Dennis' heart nearly stopped as Michael remained still, inspecting his plate with narrowed eyes. He was sure in that moment that this was it, that he'd ruined everything. How could Michael ever trust him again after this? After learning that he had been fed human meat without consent? Even everything else he did, the killing and making furniture with the bodies... Those things were different, somehow. Less sinister. But then Michael took another bite, and then another, as if symbolically accepting Dennis for even the worst of his sins, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

He nodded as Michael spoke, almost too dazed to truly hear any of his words, but he could hear the kind tone to his voice, and after several seconds the meaning behind his words finally registered. Michael was complimenting him, this man whose life he had ruined was honestly sitting here praising Dennis for his body disposal skills. He blushed slightly, overwhelmed by the compliment, by how much it meant to him to hear such kind words tumbling from Michael's lips.

“Thank you,” he replied quietly, sincerely grateful for everything Michael had said. “And yeah, that's what I... That's what I figured, at first. With nothing left behind, the cops would have a hard time catching me. But I also just really came to enjoy it. I don't know, I like what I do. I know it's wrong, but I like it. It gives me a sense of purpose.”

He shrugged slightly, turning his attention back to his chili before speaking again.

“If you want, sometime I could make you something with George Michael.”

Michael paused at the idea. Even if there was human meat on his plate, in his body at that moment, there was some sort of disconnect in his mind regarding his son, as though it weren't possible for this meat to be made of his child, though that very well could have been the case. He looked back into his plate, contemplating.

At first he was tempted to be disgusted with the notion. Convention told him that George Michael's body, what was left of it, deserved a proper burial, a committing to the earth where it belonged, or perhaps a cremation, with Michael carrying the ashes around with him wherever he went. But the more he thought of Dennis' suggestion, the more it appealed to him. Carrying George Michael's ashes in an urn was one way to keep his son with him forever, that was true. But carrying him around in his body? Allowing George Michael to nourish him, be the fiber of which his existence was composed? This seemed all the more.. fitting, almost touching.

“I'd like that,” Michael said, finally looking up to meet Dennis' gaze, smiling. A moment of silence passed, then he added, “Would you mind if.. if I ate all of the body? I mean, no offense, but I.. I just want all of my son. That's all.”

Dennis contemplated Michael's request, at first unsure. He liked to partake in the consumption of all of his victims; it was one of his favorite aspects of his little hobby. Each of his victims had a distinct flavor, each one a new and exciting experience for him to behold. He figured, though, that it was the least Michael deserved, deciding what was done with his own son's body. So much had already been taken from him – more specifically, Dennis had already taken so much from him – he deserved this small favor. Any little thing Dennis could do to ease Michael's mind some he wanted to do, and then some. He nodded eventually, slowly, reaching out to put a hand on Michael's knee and giving it a small squeeze.

“Of course. You can have the whole thing, you can do whatever you want with it.”

He moved his hand softly over Michael's thigh, enjoying the warmth of him underneath his hand, for a moment thinking of any other small way he could honor George Michael's life. He returned Michael's smile slowly as an idea occurred to him.

“Did he have a favorite food, or anything? I mean, I could come up with a recipe for whatever it was, make him into it. Might be a nice way to remember him, you know?”

He averted Michael's gaze then, suddenly feeling sheepish. It was probably a stupid thing, expecting that turning George Michael into his favorite food would in any way make up for the loss of his life, but it was the only thing he could think of to do.

Michael glanced to Dennis' hand on his thigh, a smile tugging at his lips. He could still hardly believe what was happening, that this man who had murdered his precious child, who had planned to kill him as well, was bringing him such comfort and peace now. But he was glad of it, happy to experience some sense of calm after everything that he had been through.

He considered Dennis' offer, thinking back to all of his meals with George Michael in a way that made his heart ache. His son had always been so squeamish about trying new things, especially foods, but ones he dared to try he normally ended up adoring.

“He liked steak and eggs,” Michael offered finally, looking back up to Dennis' face. “You know, like, as a breakfast thing. Instead of sausage or bacon, he liked steak with his. It was kind of a special, once-a-week thing for us. He really loved it.”

He paused to fill his mouth with another spoonful of chili, chewing slowly. “I don't know how do-able that is,” he added. “I mean, if it can't be done, he did like other foods. I mean, is that hard? Is it hard to get a steak out of..?” Michael trailed off, still not comfortable enough to verbalize the source of their meal.

Dennis returned Michael's smile, almost unbelievably relieved to see that Michael was starting to relax in his presence, was feeling comfortable enough around him to smile, to hold a conversation with him like this. He gave Michael's thigh a small squeeze as he thought it over, could see the sort of wistful heartache as he reminisced about his son. As Michael began to speak Dennis hung onto his every word, wanting to soak up everything he said, almost getting lost in the sweet memories he was sharing himself.

A part of him wished he could have been there for one of these meals, could have seen George Michael enjoying himself the way Michael described, enjoying the food and his father's company. He wanted to know what those special once a week breakfasts looked like, where they sat, what they talked about over their meals, wanted to smell the food and hear the sounds of their laughter ringing through the house and feel that sense of being home, of being happy and content. Dennis found himself thinking about how gorgeous Michael must have looked when he was truly happy, when the smile on his face wasn't dampened by such bleak circumstances.

He nodded eventually, thinking over Michael's request.

“Yeah, I don't see why that can't be done. I mean, I've never actually tried making a steak before but... I'm sure I can make it work. If that's what he would have wanted, that's what I'll do.”

Michael smiled more at Dennis' promise, trusting him more with each passing second he was allowed to stay alive in his presence. Maybe this man was being genuine before, maybe he truly felt remorse for what he'd done, truly regretted hurting him this way, and it wasn't all just some elaborate display of psychopathy. He tried to take comfort in the kindness Dennis was offering.

It seemed almost laughable: the idea that George Michael would have wanted to be made into a steak and egg breakfast for his father, but in a twisted way, it sort of seemed true. After all, George Michael did love his father more than anything in the world. If this is where circumstances left them, if the greatest comfort George Michael could be was getting turned into a steak and prepared by his murderer to feed his father, then that's probably what George Michael would want.

“With orange juice,” Michael went on, no longer offering instruction for the meal, just describing it, reminiscing. “We always had orange juice with it. The kid loved orange juice. We'd go through cartons in less than a week.”

He looked down as he remembered, thinking of the meals, the bike rides they'd take afterwards, the fact that they would never take them together again. He found himself blinking back tears, almost scared to cry for fear this could agitate his captor.

“I'm going to miss him,” Michael said, voice wavering as he met Dennis' gaze again. “I'm just.. I-I'm sorry. I'm just going to miss him so much.”

Dennis smiled softly to himself as Michael recalled his son's love of orange juice, the sad sort of fondness in his voice breaking Dennis' heart. He wanted to offer something, respond in some way, but he knew there was nothing he could say. No combination of words could bring George Michael back. There was nothing that could be done other than to let Michael have this moment, for Dennis to lend a listening ear as Michael relived his precious memories with his son, offer as much quiet support as he possibly could.

He remained silent for a few minutes even after Michael had finished speaking, simply looking into his eyes. But the tears he could clearly see threatening them were more than Dennis could bear, and almost without thought he pulled Michael forward into another hug, arms wrapping tightly around his body and holding him close against his chest. He brought his hand up to rub soft circles into his back, turning his head to drop kisses against the skin of his neck.

“Shh, shh, it's okay, Michael. I know you miss him, I know you do. It's okay to cry, if you need to. And I know.. I mean, I know I'm not exactly ideal company, all things considered, but.. just know that I'm here for you, okay? I can't bring him back, but you can talk to me if you need to. You can tell me all about him. Or not, if you're not comfortable.. We can just sit here, if that would be easier..”

He trailed off, realizing that he had begun to ramble in his desperate attempt to make Michael understand how sincere his desire was to help.

“We can do whatever you want. I'm here for you.”

Michael tensed in Dennis' arms, for a moment frightened he'd scared the kindness out of this man and found, once again, that Dennis seemingly only had his best interests at heart. He melted into the embrace, bringing his arms up to wrap around Dennis' neck, holding him closer and burying his face in Dennis' shoulder.

“I just wanted to see him grow up,” Michael wept softly. “Teach him to drive. Watch him graduate. I-I just..”

He paused, devolving fully into tears now and still latently shocked that this man who'd been so cruel to him earlier was not punishing this behavior, was simply holding him, rubbing his back and kissing him. How could this be the same man responsible for killing his child in cold blood, for taking the most important person in his life away from him? And yet it was.

Michael pulled away slightly, just enough to look into Dennis' eyes, tears in his own.

“He was my only child,” he went on. “He was my everything. He was..” He paused again, glancing away for a moment, taking a breath to collect himself. “All I ever wanted was to be a father, you know? Just to have a child. Get to raise them the way I should have been raised. Just get to love them. You know?”

Dennis cringed slightly as he felt Michael's tears soaking into his shirt; although he'd told him it was okay to cry, that he wanted to be there for him, now that Michael was really opening up and showing so much raw emotion, Dennis was nervous. He didn't understand what had happened, what kind of power this man had over him that he could so completely change him in such a short period of time. Mere hours ago he had drugged him, killed his son, planned on torturing him and then likely killing him too. Using their skins to make some new decoration for his and Mac's apartment, use the meat to whip up a nice meal for himself and his unwitting roommate, and move on to the next victim, the next person in a line of bodies that had never meant anything to him beyond what he could make out of them, that sense of satisfaction he got from killing them.

Now, though.. something had changed, quickly and irrevocably. With each word of love for his son that slipped from Michael's mouth, every tear that fell from his eyes, Dennis felt himself getting closer and closer to feeling something that he'd never quite felt before: love. Whether it was love for Michael or just the excess of love Michael felt for his son affecting him, he wasn't yet sure. But it was some form of love all the same, and while he didn't understand how all of this had happened so rapidly, even as Michael poured his heart out and Dennis felt the twist of discomfort in his gut, he was immensely grateful for these changes that Michael had so easily sparked in him.

He nodded softly against his neck as Michael's speech wound down.

“I know you did, Michael. But you did get to do some of that, right? George Michael was obviously very loved, and very well taken care of. You were an amazing father, still are, even if his life was cut short. Even if.. I cut his life short. It sounds like you two had some wonderful times together. And wherever he is, I'm sure he's looking back on them fondly just like you are.”

Michael nodded as Dennis spoke, trying hard to take the words to heart. The Bluths had never been especially religious; Michael hadn't even known about God or Jesus or church until his first year of college. He hadn't the faintest idea what happened after someone died, beyond that they stopped living. But in that moment, he felt—or perhaps had a desperate need to believe—that heaven was a real place, that his son was up on a cloud somewhere peering down at him, watching.

The image cause a smile to tug at Michael's lips and he looked up, meeting Dennis' gaze. For the first time, he finally was beginning to believe that this man wanted the best for him, that he truly wanted to right the horrible wrong he'd committed, maybe even make his way into Michael's good graces and, if he could be so fortunate, earn his forgiveness. Even if Dennis didn't have such lofty ambitions, the effort he was making touched Michael's heart in a way he could barely comprehend let alone describe.

“I hope he is,” he said, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you for.. all of this. You're very..”

Michael trailed off as he stared into Dennis eyes and, before he could stop himself, leaned in, pressing his lips' to Dennis'. He pulled away moments later, finally realizing what he had done, cheeks beginning to burn.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I.. I-I don't know why I did that. I'm so sorry.”

Dennis stared slack-jawed at Michael as he pulled away, as he blushed furiously and stammered a terrified apology. He was too stunned to think, let alone speak, as he felt the warm press of Michael's lips against his own even now that he'd pulled away. Had.. Michael just kissed him?

He couldn't have. He must have fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for his chili to cook. He must have still been up in the apartment, lost to the world in this utterly bizarre dream. Any moment now he'd wake up, alone, bring the food down to Michael. Michael would eat in uncomfortable silence, rebuff Dennis' attempts at comfort as he had every right to do. Michael would hate him like he should. Yet something in Dennis told him that it was all real, very real. Michael had honestly kissed him, was honestly expressing gratitude for Dennis showing him whatever modicum of decency he could muster under the circumstances.

A blush quickly crept across Dennis' own cheeks as the reality of the situation settled in around him, his heart rate speeding as he realized that maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance at forgiveness. Maybe Michael would be able to look past the horrible thing he'd done, and they could have some sort of future together. He leaned forward, too dazed to fully realize what exactly he was doing, how utterly ridiculous and impossible everything about this was.

“Don't be sorry, Michael. You didn't do anything wrong,” he whispered, lips ghosting over Michael's for a moment before he closed the space between them, catching him in a deep kiss.

Michael gave a small, surprised moan against Dennis' lips, still struggling to catch up with the reality of what was happening. He'd expected Dennis to react in horror and disgust, to shove Michael away from him, vengefully promise that he and his son's body would nourish him for days. At the very least, he expected his awkward apologies to be accepted and the mood of the moment restored to its earlier normalcy. He did not anticipate Dennis returning his kiss, perhaps even returning the feelings that Michael couldn't explain, that he knew he should not have been having about a man who killed his son in cold blood not twenty-four hours ago.

He returned the kiss finally, wrapping his arms around Dennis' neck once again, melting into the embrace. Dennis' lips were almost impossibly soft and Michael could taste the faint spice still on them from the chili. His hands wandered, eventually finding the hem of Dennis' button down. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to run his hand under his shirt, to feel Dennis' skin under his fingers but he restrained himself, not wanting to push things or move too fast. Not only out of fear and desire to protect his own safety, but also out of a very genuine desire to keep Dennis feeling safe and cared for.

Dennis smiled slightly against Michael's lips as he felt his fingers playing hesitantly at the hem of his shirt, his own hands running slowly down Michael's back. He wanted desperately to tell him somehow that it was okay, that he needn't be afraid. Dennis wanted this, too, with a fierce longing he couldn't explain or describe. He wanted to feel this wonderful man's hands against his skin, wanted to touch him and kiss him everywhere, wanted to show him with his body how truly, horribly sorry he was for everything he'd done.

But he was also afraid of being too forceful, that any advance he might make would seem too predatory, would make Michael uncomfortable. Surely, Michael wasn't in his right mind. He was exhausted, delirious from the myriad horrors he'd experienced in such a short period of time. Didn't know what he was doing, couldn't possibly consent to this. The right thing to do would be to stop, back away from him and his kiss and let him sleep on this.

Dennis couldn't stop himself, though. Michael's kiss was absolutely intoxicating, and the little moans escaping his mouth were making Dennis' heart catch in his throat and he wanted him so badly he couldn't quite believe it. He trailed his hands down, down, until they reached Michael's hip and he slipped his fingers gingerly underneath the fabric of his shirt, sighing softly as he finally felt the warmth of his skin under his fingertips. He broke the kiss finally, panting heavily as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Michael.. Do you want..?”

He trailed off, almost afraid to voice it, scared that saying the words aloud would scare Michael back to his senses and stop whatever this was before it could even begin.

Michael looked into Dennis' eyes, his own dazed with lust and latent fear, cheeks burning from the feeling of the man's hands on his bare flesh. He knew what Dennis was asking and what his answer should be. If he was any kind of respectable man, he'd refuse, apologize, back out of the embrace, resume mourning his child and quietly remind himself that it was entirely Dennis' fault that he had mourning to do in the first place. They would never speak of this encounter again, and Michael would live out his days here or be murdered several months from now or whatever, but he'd be able to go to his grave confident in the fact that he never slept with his son's killer.

But Michael didn't want that. Michael wanted to feel every inch of this man against him, to have this man inside him, to let Dennis fuck him until all the grief and sorrow and horror felt like it was miles away. It had to be Stockholm syndrome, Michael thought to himself again. There was no way these were the thought processes of a sane man. But Michael was far too weak to refuse these urges. He leaned in, catching Dennis' lips in a tender kiss before he pulled away to answer.

“Yes,” he said simply, bringing a hand up to stroke Dennis' cheek. “Yes. I want this. I want you to fuck me.”

Dennis smiled gently, moving his hand from Michael's back to cover the one on his cheek and holding it for a moment, simply taking in the feeling of the sweet gesture, letting it ground him as Michael's words bounced around in his brain. It took him a little while for him to accept that Michael's request was genuine, that his brain hadn't just replaced his words with the ones he wanted to hear. Michael truly, honestly wanted him. For some reason he could comprehend, this seemingly normal, kind man was willing to forgive him for murdering his son, at least enough so that he wanted to share such an intimate act with him. He couldn't imagine why, for the life of him, Michael would want such a thing. But if it was what he wanted, and apparently it was, it was what Dennis was going to give him.

“Okay. Okay,” Dennis nodded. He leaned forward, pressing another kiss to Michael's lips, more confidently this time, the hand on his back trailing upwards until his palm was pressed flush against his bare back. He nibbled at Michael's bottom lip as he began pushing him back, laying him out gently on the tile floor and climbing on top of him, moaning loudly against his mouth as his hardening cock nudged against Michael's hip. He trailed kisses along his jawline and down his neck as his hands began work on removing his shirt, hoping his lips against his skin would distract Michael enough that he wouldn't be nervous, wanting nothing more than to make this a good experience for him.

Michael groaned at the feeling of Dennis' lips on his neck. He expected to be more anxious than this, to be scared of embarrassing himself, of looking foolish or coming too soon but none of his usual sex-related anxieties made themselves known. On the contrary, laying here in Dennis' embrace, feeling Dennis stripping him.. it felt remarkably right, like this was the person he'd been meant to be intimate with all his life.

He sat up slightly to help Dennis get him out of his shirt, resuming their kiss and immediately going for Dennis' button down. He parted his legs for Dennis to fill the space between them, grinding his hips against Dennis' and moaning, trying to pull him closer even as he unbuttoned his shirt. He couldn't understand the draw this man had, the power he had over Michael to make him want this so badly, to make it feel so perfect and right. But Michael was far too drunk on bliss to resist it, or question whether it was right or wrong. In fact, he was well aware of how wrong all of this was, but the analysis was more than irrelevant to him.

“O-oh, Dennis,” he breathed, giving up on the shirt halfway through to run his fingers through Dennis' hair. “Oh god, Dennis, o-oh fuck, I want you..”

Dennis laughed quietly at how quickly Michael abandoned his efforts at getting his shirt off, utterly charmed by his eagerness. He grasped the fabric of his shirt and pulled it off in one quick motion, too desperate to feel Michael underneath him to even care when he heard the telltale sound of buttons popping off. He tossed it aside without a thought, immediately lying back on top of Michael and resuming their urgent, needy kiss, whimpering softly at the feeling of their bare chests pressed together so exquisitely.

Dennis couldn't recall a time in his life when he needed someone this badly. Not just for the physical pleasure this would undoubtedly bring both of them, but for the sense of emotional closeness and connectedness he was already feeling with the man that he had, somehow, thought only hours ago he wanted to kill. Everything about Michael was addictive: the taste of his lips, the feeling of his hands running through his hair, the way he handled him with a certain tenderness and care that no one had ever shown him before.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Michael's, the dazed look of lust in his eyes and his wet, parted lips sending a chill down Dennis' spine.

“I want you too, baby. God, I wanna fuck you so bad. I wanna be inside of you..”

He slipped his hand between their bodies, awkwardly fumbling with the zipper of Michael's pants, pulling them and his underwear off as far as the shackle around his ankle would allow before making fast work of removing his own and settling back between his legs.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

Michael felt his cheeks burning with every sweet word that tumbled from Dennis' lips, with every admission that this amazing man wanted him as badly Michael wanted him in return. He could hardly believe that hours ago he was weeping for his life, that he was so consumed with grief and mourning that he couldn't imagine ever feeling joy again, let alone feeling it this strongly and with someone so wonderful. He thought for a brief moment of his son, laid out cold on the basement floor beside him, skinned and stored away somewhere, dead at Dennis' hands, and something occurred to him that hadn't before: this was not Dennis' fault.

It was not Dennis' fault that he and his son had chosen this bar to stumble into, had made the flight out to Philadelphia in the first place. Dennis had no intention of hurting him specifically; he was only doing what had come so naturally to him, what had only come so naturally due to a lack of love in his life that was, again, not his fault. Besides, didn't George Michael love him? Want him to be happy? And this man was making him so undeniably happy.. Michael shook the thoughts from his mind, desperate not to ruin the moment with his own anxieties, and pulled Dennis down into another tender kiss.

“I'm ready,” he whispered against Dennis' lips. “God, baby, I am so ready..”

Dennis smiled softly into Michael's kiss, practically melting as he felt his arms wrap around him and pull him closer. This was, far and away, the closest Dennis had ever been to feeling true happiness. Joy was something he'd given up on long ago, or at least any joy other than the sickly sense of satisfaction he got from his little hobby. But joy like this, the feeling of being cared for and loved by someone as amazing as Michael clearly was.. He'd never expected this was something he would ever get to experience in his life.

And for the first time during this whole nightmarish situation, Dennis was starting to believe that Michael honestly cared for him. The way he was looking at him, holding him and kissing him and speaking to him like he was the only person in the world, it was becoming obvious just how enamored Michael truly was. It was more than Stockholm syndrome, it was something almost bordering on love.

Dennis was done worrying about whether or not he deserved this affection, whether or not Michael should rightfully care about him in spite of everything he'd so cruelly taken away. Dennis wanted to embrace this, embrace this feeling that he mattered to someone. Michael was incredible, and they both wanted each other, and that was all that mattered. With this in mind he finally rolled his hips forward, pressing into Michael with as much gentleness as he could manage, uncontrollable moans spilling from his mouth at the feeling of Michael's muscles wrapped around him. They fit so flawlessly together, like their bodies had been made for each other.

“F-fuck, Michael, baby...” he breathed, thrusting his hips carefully as he began to build up a slow pace.

Michael gave a small gasp as Dennis pressed into him. He'd only been with one man before this, and that had been years ago. The sensation was vaguely familiar and yet altogether new; Dennis filled him so well, so perfectly it defied conscious description. He looked up into Dennis' face as he moaned, taking in the sweet sound of this man being pleasured by him, giving another gasp as he finally began to move inside of him.

“D-Dennis..!”

He dropped his head back, appreciating his loving, languid pace and at the same time tortured by it, wanting desperately to feel Dennis lose control of himself, to take Michael like he belonged to him. He pulled Dennis closer, reaching up to run a hand through his curls around and pulling him down into another kiss, moaning against his impossibly soft lips. He pressed back in time again his thrusts, urging him on.

“Dennis,” Michael groaned, looking up into the man's beautifully clear blue eyes. “O-oh god, Dennis, you feel s-so good.. Baby, I-I want you. Please, baby, I w-want you to fuck me harder..!”

Dennis bit down on Michael's lip to keep from screaming as his hips moved in time with his thrusts, so overcome and dizzy with pleasure he was momentarily terrified that he was going to come if he moved any faster. He broke the kiss and put a hand to Michael's cheek, stroking it softly for a few final seconds as he braced himself, in awe of the pure desire shining in this gorgeous man's eyes.

As his desperate pleading made its way to Dennis ears he lost control of himself, dipping his head down to catch Michael's lips in another fierce kiss as he thrust his hips harder, and then harder still, until he was pounding into him with so much force he was distantly worried he was hurting him. He couldn't stop himself, though, even if he'd wanted to, so lost to pleasure that he was no longer in control of his body. He'd had sex before, many times, but never anything like this. Every inch of him felt alive, almost overwhelmingly so. He knew in that moment more than ever that he wanted Michael to be around for the long haul. He was going to do whatever it took to fully gain his trust, to make Michael his. They were going to live the rest of their lives together in wonderful, blissful harmony. It was destiny, and he became more and more certain of this with every beautiful moan and whimper that fell from Michael's lips.

“Fuck, baby, you feel amazing. You're.. god, you're s-so good, baby. Fuck, Michael!!”

Michael cried out over and over, practically screaming Dennis' name as he fucked him harder, his head dropping back and Dennis' lips catching on his throat. He had never been fucked like this before; not only this hard, this absolutely expertly, but also never with someone whom he felt such a connection with. Never before had he felt such a genuine desire to be intimate with another person, felt such instinctual and complicit trust in someone to use his body this way, to pleasure him and themselves.

He felt Dennis sucking at his neck and cried out anew, the man's name and various swears ringing out against the sterile basement walls. Michael never wanted the moment to end; he could stay here in this site of torture forever as long as Dennis was with him, inside of him, taking care of him.

“D-Dennis,” he panted, eyes screwing shut as he felt his orgasm rapidly approaching, wrapping his legs around Dennis' waist and pulling him closer, deeper. “O-oh fuck, Dennis, b-baby, please, I'm close. I-I'm so close, o-oh god, fuck me. Baby, fuck me..!!”

Dennis grunted and panted against Michael's neck, sloppily kissing and sucking and biting at the flesh there as Michael's legs wrapped around him, pulled him forward and so close against him that Dennis truly couldn't tell where he ended and this perfect angel of a man began. He fucked him harder still, his head dropping to Michael's shoulder, crying out incoherent words of agonizing pleasure as he slammed into him with ever increasing force.

He was so utterly consumed with pleasure that he almost didn't feel it coming, at first, almost didn't notice the way his gut was tightening and his muscles were tensing, Michael's screams and desperate moans ringing in his ears as he drew closer and closer to his own orgasm. Everything about this moment was so flawless, so incredible that a part of Dennis dreaded his impending orgasm, the fact that it would mark the end of what was arguably the best experience of his life so far. But he also wanted nothing more in the world than to see Michael come, see his face contort in ecstasy as his orgasm, the orgasm Dennis was giving him, tore through his body. He continued placing kisses against his neck, panting heavily as he tried to speak.

“M-Michael, sweetheart, o-oh god. Oh fuck! Come for me, baby. Pl-please, I.. I wanna see you come for me.”

Michael practically screamed as Dennis' begging rang in his ears, how desperately this wonderful man wanted to see him come. Even despite this, despite how sweetly Dennis was asking, Michael didn't want the moment to end, didn't want to put this gorgeous, perfect experience behind them, no matter how sure he was that they'd have many more in the future, their future. He tugged Dennis even closer, head thrown back in ecstasy as he rode Dennis' thrusts once, twice more before he came, muscles tightening almost painfully around his cock as his orgasm tore through him, nearly blinding him with its intensity.

Dennis watched intently as Michael came for him, took in every twitch of his muscles and the way his eyes screwed shut as his pleasure overtook him. He stilled the motion of his hips for a brief moment, just long enough to give Michael a second to recuperate from the intensity of his orgasm, leaning down to place soft, soothing kisses along his jawline as Michael's chest heaved with his labored breathing. He couldn't hold back for long, though, and quickly started fucking him again, wasting no time in rebuilding his almost manic pace. He clung to Michael's limp body desperately, needily as he drove into him, so overwhelmed by everything: how stunningly beautiful looked coming for him, the wonderfully sweet words that were tumbling from his lips, how genuinely happy he seemed to be making Michael and how deliriously happy he was himself because of it. He caught Michael in another deep kiss, screaming into his mouth as finally, finally his orgasm overtook him, tearing through him more strongly than any other he could ever remember having before.

He rolled his hips weakly into him as he continued to ride out the last waves of his orgasm, collapsing heavily on top of Michael, his head falling to his shoulder as he tried to regain his composure.

“Oh.. o-oh my god, Dennis.. that was..” Michael trailed off, at an absolute loss for words. Before today, he could not have imagined anyone making him feel this good, this perfect and right, let alone a man who mere hours ago was dead-set on murdering and eating him.

“That was amazing,” he breathed finally.

Dennis turned his head slightly, speaking softly and adoringly into Michael's neck. “It really was. That was just.. absolutely incredible. I..” He stopped himself, realizing with a start what he was about to say, knowing that no matter how strongly he felt it, it was much too soon to say it. There was no way, however sweet Michael was being, that he wouldn't be completely put off if Dennis told him he loved him so soon.

“That was just really incredible, sweetheart.”

Michael brought his hand back up to Dennis' hair, stroking it softly, soothingly. He couldn't remember ever feeling so perfectly blissful before in his life, ever having such a strong conviction that he belonged somewhere. Though, of course, he knew he couldn't possibly feel this way about this place, about the basement of a sociopathic serial killer. Where he belonged was not this sterile white basement, but under Dennis, curled around him, feeling the warm, solid weight of him grounding Michael to reality and reminding him this was, in fact, not some kind of surreal dream.

Dennis smiled softly against Michael's neck as his fingers began working through his hair, the feeling of it both relaxing and electrifying. He couldn't think of a single time anyone had touched him this way, regarded him with such concern and.. love. Once again, Dennis shook the thought away. Michael surely didn't love him, couldn't possibly ever love him. Doubts took their place back in Dennis' head even as Michael caressed him, held him, even though Dennis was still buried inside of him. The only reason they were here was because Dennis was forcing Michael to stay; if he undid that chain he would surely make a run for it. Knock Dennis over, scramble towards the wall and grab the first tool he could get his hands on, probably kill him without a second thought before making his escape.

For a moment Dennis wondered if he would even try to stop Michael, or if he'd simply let him go, let him return home to be with his family where he belonged and continue his hobby, return to the only life he knew. He adored Michael so much, he didn't know if he had it in him to keep him here if he didn't want to be.

Michael thought of the hesitation in Dennis' voice as he'd stopped himself in his praises. He continued to pet his hair gently, leaning down to kiss his head. There was no way Dennis was having the feelings Michael could only guess he was, no way he could be mirror the depth of emotion he'd stirred in Michael. And yet, that small hesitation, that quick revision of speech left him.. not hopeful, per se, because it was not a matter of hoping Dennis returned his feelings. Maybe faithful was the better word, if Michael had ever learned anything about faith.

“Dennis,” he said softly into his hair. “Dennis.. Maybe this is a little weird, but..”

Michael paused, stopping himself the same way Dennis had. Was it too soon? Was he going to ruin this before it even began? Was he really about to declare his affections for a psychopath who had murdered his child only hours ago? The questions overwhelmed Michael, and he quickly found himself too exhausted to be bothered with them.

“I think I'm falling in love with you.”

Michael's words, spoken so quietly and apprehensively, finally reached Dennis' ears, and his heart leapt into his throat. Time stopped, the world around him ceased to exist as he tried to process what exactly he'd just heard.

_He's in love with me?_

He lifted his head slightly, looking to Michael's face, startled at the sincerity shining in his eyes.

“Really, you.. you do? I..” Dennis stopped, realizing he wasn't sure how to even begin to respond such a declaration. “I think...I think I'm in love with you too, Michael. I mean, I wanted to say it, but I thought you'd think I was crazy. Or at least, crazier than you probably already do.”

Michael laughed softly, the nervous tension inside of him subdued by Dennis' declaration, by his sweet words. Dennis truly thought that he was the crazy one here. Him, not the man who had woken up to his son's corpse and was now happily playing with the hair of the man responsible for the murder. Not the man so happy to have his child's killer inside of him, so pleased be holding him close, staring into those amazingly expressive blue eyes. He leaned up, catching Dennis' lips in a quick, tender kiss.

“I don't think you're crazy,” Michael admitted as he pulled away, gazing into Dennis' eyes again. He hesitated, almost scared to say what he wanted to, to speak the honest truth of his assessment and affection for Dennis.

“I don't think you've had too easy a time of it, either,” he went on. “With life, I mean. You deserve to be happy, Dennis. You deserve to feel loved.”

He pulled Dennis down into another, deeper kiss, hoping to communicate all of his adoration in the gesture. Because he did truly adore Dennis. He couldn't, for the life of him, piece together how he'd gone from terrified to intrigued to idolatrous, how he'd found himself so overwhelmed with love for this man who'd had such vivid intentions of murdering him initially. All Michael knew was that he wanted to see this man cared for, to see the vague scars emanating from this man's soul healed and Michael wanted to be the one to do that work.

Latently he realized his body was still curled around Dennis', his legs still tightly keeping him inside of Michael. Gently he uncurled them, giving Dennis the opportunity to pull away if Michael had been wrong, if he no longer wanted the intimacy in light of Michael's assessment.

Dennis returned his kiss, feeling in it everything Michael was trying to convey – all of the horribly misplaced love he felt for Dennis, all of the adoration and concern this man so obviously felt for him. It didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense. No one in his life, not a single person, had ever treated him this way. Even the Gang, the people that were arguably his closest friends, never treated him with compassion like this. And Michael, out of everyone, had the least reason in the world to want to show him any kindness. He'd killed his son, he'd planned on killing him shortly thereafter. He'd planned on doing horrible, indescribably awful things to both of their corpses. Yet here he was, falling in love with him in only a few short hours.

Dennis smiled somewhat sadly against Michael's lips as he unfurled his legs from around him, missing the solid, comforting weight of them wrapped around his waist. He snuggled even closer against his body, wrapping his arms around him as best he could, breaking the kiss to rest his head against Michael's chest. He was right, certainly. Dennis hadn't had an easy life, had struggled not just with the lack of love in it but with the demons that had consumed him for as long as he could remember. It had been a never-ending battle, still was. But none of that was any excuse for what he'd done. None of it made the heinous acts he'd committed acceptable. He dropped a small kiss against Michael's chest, his racing thoughts suddenly too much for him to keep inside any longer.

“But how? How can you.. how can you possibly feel this way about me after what I've done? How can you not hate me? You're so amazing, you deserve the entire world. Not.. this. Not being held captive in the basement that your son was murdered in. You deserve so much better than this. Than me.”

Michael was quiet as the contemplated Dennis' question. He had no succinct, logical answer, no explanation for the overwhelming love he felt for this man in such a disturbingly short amount of time. Michael struggled to examine his thoughts and emotions even on good days, in times when he was not being held hostage in a psychopath's basement, much less a psychopath he was completely smitten about. For a moment, he thought of Gob, of how utterly unfocused and broken he was, how it had made his heart swell even to uplift Gob the slightest bit, make any effort to heal him.. but he shook away the thought before his mind could form a meaningful connection.

Dennis clung harder to Michael as silence overtook the room, could practically feel the thoughts he was struggling not to let himself get carried away with. He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to know what was happening inside of Michael's brain, to know what in his past had lead him here, had turned him into such an understanding person that he could so easily forgive Dennis' sins, was so ready and willing to move past everything that had happened and just love him.

“I don't know, honestly,” Michael answered finally. “Sometimes the heart just wants what it wants. And I know that I want you.”

He pressed another kiss to Dennis' hair.

“I know that I deserve you. I know that you're a better person than you realize.” He paused, giving another soft, comfortable laugh. “And I know I'm not amazing.”

Michael wrapped the hand not in Dennis' hair around his body, pulling him closer, not wanting him to pull away and leave until he understood perfectly how much they deserved each other, maybe not even after that.

“I know this situation isn't.. ideal. But I love you. I-I want to make this work. Whatever this is.” He paused again, then added, “Just don't leave me alone in here too long. That's all I ask.”

Dennis nodded along as Michael spoke, smiling as his lips pressed into his hair. Still, he didn't understand Michael's love for him. Maybe he never would. Maybe he'd live the rest of his life with Michael wondering what he did to deserve such happiness, such unconditional love. But for now he was content to accept it, finally, to let his insecurities go. He wanted, so desperately, to just let himself be happy. And even more than that, he wanted to make Michael happy, wanted to channel all of his focus into giving him the perfect life he deserved, no matter how much he didn't believe he did.

“I love you too, Michael. And you are amazing, please don't think for a second you're not. You're so sweet and understanding and just.. It takes an amazing person to be able to forgive someone like me.”

He adjusted himself, lifting his head so he could look into Michael's sparkling grey eyes as he felt the beginnings of tears welling up in his own.

“And we will make this work, I promise. I'll do whatever it takes to make this work. I have to keep you down here for a while, just in case, but.. I promise, I'll make your life down here as good as I can. I won't leave you alone, I'll be here for you. And we can figure out what this is as we go. I'll make you happy.”

Michael favored him with a kind smile as he watched the tears forming in Dennis' eyes, brought his hand down to wipe a stray one away. It still shocked him how much emotion Dennis was capable of. He'd seemed so methodical, so cold when he'd initially revealed himself, when he'd so casually began cutting into George Michael's corpse. Now here he was, weeping, overwhelmed with the love he felt for Michael and that Michael felt in return for him. Michael could hardly believe he was the same person, the same gorgeous, brilliant man curled around him, still inside him.

“Dennis,” he said, still holding the man's teary, bemused face in his hand. “You're already making me so happy. I don't know how or why, but I.. I really love this.”

He looked away, still trying to piece together his feelings, make sense of the love he felt for this man, how he had come to forgiving and understanding him so quickly and easily. But it was like trying to do a puzzle with his eyes closed. Even if he had a better grasp on his thoughts and emotions, he couldn't imagine it'd be any easier to suss out the logic of his feelings, of how badly he wanted Dennis to stay in the basement with him forever.

“I really love you, Dennis,” Michael said, testing how the words felt in his mouth, how it felt to watch Dennis' eyes light up as the words left his lips. “I mean it. I love you.”

Each new utterance of those magical three words from Michael's mouth made Dennis' heart race anew, filled him with even more love than he ever thought he'd be capable of. He, too, was shocked by the depth of his own emotions; he rarely felt much of anything. Prior to today, the strongest emotion he had with any sort of regularity was the thrill he got from acquiring new victims, from taking their lives. But in recent months even that had begun to wear thin.

This, though, was something else entirely. This made every inch of him come to life, filled him with a warmth that he never wanted to go away. He was beyond grateful that he had somehow succeeded in winning Michael's love, was excited to see what the future held for them. It would take a lot of work, he knew, for both of them to truly build each others' trust. It would take time and dedication but for the first time, he was absolutely sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would make it work. Someday they would be free to be together, to live as close to a normal life as they were capable of.

Dennis laughed softly through his tears as Michael cradled his face, craning his neck up to place a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I love you too, baby. I really do, I love you so much. You make me happy too, I don't think.. I've just never felt this way before.”

He pressed another kiss to Michael's face, and then another, completely addicted to the little smile that formed on his lips with each one.

“I'm just so glad you decided to walk into Paddy's, baby.”

Michael felt a blush creep across his face as Dennis kissed him over and over, his heart swelling each time. He paused, thinking of Dennis' statement. He was glad. Everything that had happened, he was ultimately glad about. Could Michael say the same? Laying here in Dennis' arms was magical, but he'd lost his son. His precious baby boy was in some freezer somewhere in the annals of this basement, skinless and waiting to be turned into breakfast meat. His sweet baby boy, who had fought so ardently to protect him, whose begging for Michael's was almost irrefutably the reason he was still alive at this moment, that boy was gone, dead at the hands of the very man in his arms.

Michael felt another pang of sadness, of desolation that he truly would never see his son again, not in the way he wanted to, at least. And he still felt it was his own fault, if he'd only chosen a different bar, rejected Dennis' drink, listened to someone else for once in his goddamn life, things would be different. But there was no changing the past, no repairing what happened. And he'd lost so, so much, but hadn't he gained something as well? Dennis, whatever they would end up being to each other.. Michael smiled slowly, almost ashamed of himself for becoming so emotional and bitter.

“Me, too,” he said softly, bringing his hand back up to play in Dennis' curls. He let out a soft yawn, exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Dennis held Michael close as he fell silent, thought through and carefully chose his words. Dennis could pretty safely guess at what Michael was thinking. He knew, ultimately, that he didn't share in Dennis' complete unadulterated joy over the events that had taken place. His son was gone, or more accurately had been taken from him. Deep down, Michael probably wished that he hadn't come into Dennis' bar. No matter how happy and content he insisted he was with loving Dennis, with how everything had turned out, Dennis wasn't naive. Everything in this wonderful man's life would be so much better, so much simpler if he'd done even one thing differently that fateful day.

And some part of Dennis was honestly, truly sorry for the way things had played out. He wished that being with Michael now, having what he'd always wanted, hadn't come at such a price. He wished there was some way he could bring his son back to life, even if only long enough that they could have a chance to say a proper goodbye. But all of this was impossible. Michael's son, the son that Michael had obviously been such an incredible, loving father to, was gone. There was no sense in dwelling on it, at least not for Dennis. All he could do now was try to make up for it any little way he could, try every day to make Michael as happy as he was, and just be grateful that Michael loved him despite everything. Dennis smiled at Michael's little yawn, squeezing him just a little bit tighter and placing a quick kiss to his forehead.

“Of course I can, sweetheart. Get some rest, I'll stay right here.”

Michael smiled more as he felt Dennis' lips against his forehead, the feeling lingering there long after he had pulled away. He still missed his son, probably would for the rest of his life. He couldn't imagine truly being at peace with what had happened, how he'd lost his precious boy. But at the same time, he knew Dennis was absolutely hellbent on seeing him happy and recovered from this nightmare, albeit one of his own creation. And Dennis seemed, for all intents and purposes, a methodical man who had no problem working to get what he wanted. Michael had every hope that Dennis' love could and would heal him.

He laid his head back, almost too spent to mind that he'd once again be falling asleep on the cold, unyielding tiles, pulling Dennis closer as Michael let his eyes slip shut. He felt remarkably safe suddenly, here in this man's basement, in his arms, as though nothing could get to him or harm him down here.

“Thank you, baby,” he mumbled tiredly, sleep quickly beginning to overtake him. “You're so good to me. So sweet. God, Dennis, I love you.”

Dennis laid with Michael as he began to drift off, dropping soft kisses into his hair and whispering quiet 'I love you's until he heard the sweet sound of his quiet snoring. He stayed another moment, smiling to himself at the sight of Michael sound asleep, looking completely at peace. He was still in awe of him, of how safe he felt in Dennis' arms that he could fall asleep so easily even despite his surroundings, trusted him so completely now.

Finally, reluctantly he pulled away, laying Michael back down gently and slipping out of him carefully so as not to wake him up. He gathered the pillow he'd brought down earlier and propped it underneath Michael's head, took his shirt and laid it over his naked form to keep him warm, hoping that having some small part of him there would keep him feeling content and safe. He made a note that he should bring some more bedding down as soon as he could, maybe even an entire bed. If Michael was going to be staying here for a long while he deserved to be comfortable, to have basic human comforts and feel some semblance of normalcy.

Maybe, hopefully, Dennis could make this place feel like a home for him.

He ran a hand through Michael's hair for another moment before standing, dressing himself quickly and quietly, carefully, leaving the room.

 


End file.
